


Between Lies And Truths

by Hekate1308



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:25:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She always knew her crush on Sherlock Holmes was hopeless - that doesn't mean she ever thought she'd end up here, forced to lie to all her friends. And then Sherlock returns. Molly, Post-Reichenbach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Forget To Lie

**Author's Note:**

> The two chapters are actually two oneshots I wrote weeks apart; however, since the second was a follow-up to the first I decided to put them together.

If she had thought about it – which she obviously never did, because her silly little crush on Sherlock was everything but well thought over – she still wouldn't have believed that she'd end up here one day.

Lying once is one thing; lying constantly, to her friends, to his friends, to his family even, never being able to let go of the lie, always having to hide what she did, pretending to grieve while other people she knows and even likes are being slowly killed by Sherlock's death, and knowing that this all happened because of a man she used to date –

Nobody could have prepared her for this.

Even when he told her, in this sad voice, with these eyes boring into her, and she knew that she'd do everything she could to help him, although until this day, he'd never seemed to even be aware of her existence, and she started to vaguely realize what he wanted her to do – find a fake body, and that quickly, claim it was Sherlock's, confirm everything through false DNA-tests – she didn't realize how difficult this would be.

She's always been honest. It was her one good quality.

Even her parents – who'd been everything but supportive when she'd told them she wanted to be a medical examiner – often told her that it was nice to have such an honest daughter. It was one thing she could be proud of – one thing nobody could take away from her (except Sherlock Holmes, that is).

She was honest.

A grey mouse, yes.

Unimportant? Yes.

Most likely going to die without a family? Yes.

But she's never been dishonest. Until now.

Nowadays, when she knows Sherlock's alive – even though she only saw him once after he "died", on the day after the "funeral", when he asked her if everything had worked out fine and she answered "It's all fine", and by the time she found the words "You're off, then?" he was already halfway out the door, but called out "Trust me, it's better if you don't know" and maybe it is, no, it definitely is, she remembers what danger he – and later Doctor Watson, too – stumbled upon on a regular basis – the one adjective she would use to describe herself is just that: dishonest.

Dishonest, because Doctor Watson visits the morgue and the lab more often than she would like and she has to look in his eyes and see how devastated he is. It's not only Sherlock who died in a way on that day, Doctor Watson lost something too. Something important. She's never been jealous of the doctor – if she's honest to herself, and she's only honest to herself these days, she never thought she really stood a chance with Sherlock, but a girl could dream, right? – and the way he looks at her, with oh so empty eyes, just standing in the lab where he met the consulting detective, almost as if he's hoping to bring him back to life by conjuring his memory – it's enough to break her heart.

So she does what she's always done and brings him coffee. She can do that, at least, without lying.

And she listens, though that is far harder to achieve without lying, because the truth's always there, on the tip of her tongue, and every time he tells her how much he misses his best friend, she can feel the "He's alive!" slowly making its way towards her lips, until she suppresses it. And she always does. She promised Sherlock, after all, and she might not be a honest, good person anymore, but at least she still keeps her promises.

It's even harder to talk to Mrs. Hudson. The good, nice old lady occasionally invites her to 221B Baker Street to have a cup of tea, and is thoroughly convinced she's doing the right thing and acting the way Sherlock would have wanted her to act when really, she's everything but, and every time Molly hears her call Sherlock and John "my boys" she has to bite her tongue and ignore the truth that wants to be told.

Because she can't.

Sherlock is out there, doing God knows what – though she strongly suspects it has to do with Moriarty, or Jim, as she called him, once upon a time, when they were watching Glee together – and he needs her to lie. So she'll do it.

She's never really been able to resist him, after all. One look in those eyes, one word in this voice, and off she goes. It's always been, and she thinks will always be, this way.

And while she may have a rather strong crush on the consulting detective – and still dreams of more, now and then – that's not all there is.

She likes him. She's always liked him. Most people hate him, and she can't really blame them – the way he likes to tell people about their past can be rather off-putting (how well she remembers the day she first set eyes on him, when he worked on his very first case ever for Scotland Yard, stormed into the morgue, claimed he had to see the body and, while he was looking at and touching the corpse, took one look at her and murmured, more to himself than anyone else, "Only child. Parents not happy with her choice of work, but still supportive. Single, appears to have been for a long time. Fond of cats." And she didn't say a word, wasn't able to say a word, and that was when he first looked her in the eyes – maybe he wondered why she hadn't kicked him out yet). But she likes him for the way he acts, likes that there are no lies when he tells you your life story. He doesn't try to make it easier or nicer or better for you to listen to. He just lists facts, and in her line of work, she's grown to appreciate facts. They don't hurt. They just are.

And she thinks he's a good person, somewhere deep down, and she believes he has good reason to do whatever it is he's doing right now (just let him come back safe and healthy, please. Just that). So she helps him by lying.

By lying to the whole world, apparently, because it's not only John and Mrs. Hudson. His brother – his strange, posh, older brother – demanded to see the body almost immediately, and when she saw the oh so familiar deducing gaze sweep over the corpse, she was rather glad she picked out the John Doe according to Sherlock's wishes.

He left without a word. These Holmses – a strange family, but they can't fool her. She saw the sadness in Sherlock's eyes when he asked for her help, she saw the grief in his brother's when he looked upon the body he thought of as Sherlock's. They simply think too much.

DI Lestrade, the nice police man, the one who's always believed and still believes in Sherlock, wasn't so quiet. He ranted, actually screamed at Sherlock's body before leaving, and apologized to her afterwards. The good man – if he only knew- she should be the one apologizing. She sees him, now and then, in the morgue – murders still happen, even if Sherlock Holmes isn't there to solve them – and he's always so nice to her. She wishes he wouldn't be. It makes it even harder to lie.

Even Mike Stamford, the one who nobody ever thinks about, who introduced John and Sherlock, checks on her, when he's just spent another hour trying to teach young people something. She really likes him. He never intrudes. He just politely asks "How do you do?" and talks about the weather when it's clear that he too, like everyone else, knows about her crush and assumes she's suffering.

And the lying continues. Doctor Watson, Mrs. Hudson, Mike Stamford, DI Lestrade – again and again she has to lied, and she will keep lying. For Sherlock, she will.

And when he returns – well, she'll explain to him exactly how she felt. Maybe she'll even scream. Unless, of course, he uses his puppy dog eyes.

But that's a different story altogether.


	2. The Truth Beneath The Lie

She thought things would get easier once Sherlock returned from the dead. But then, nothing is ever easy with Sherlock Holmes.

She actually looked forward to be able to tell the truth, to not having to lie to her and his friends anymore. Until he came back and she realized –

Lying was only the beginning.

Living with the fact that she lied to her friends for three years and that they all know about it now –

That might be even harder, if that's possible.

He called her, almost three years to the day since he'd jumped. Or not jumped, it depends on how much you know, really. Naturally, she didn't recognize the number – must have been a burn phone.

"Molly, it's me" he said, and somehow, this scared her. Not because he'd said "It's me" (he actually used to do that quite often, because he expected people to recognize him immediately, of course he did). And it was still his voice, and he didn't sound injured, or frightened, or helpless, he just sounded tired, so it wasn't that, either.

Then she realized he'd actually taken a deep breath before he started speaking, and that was strange, because Sherlock Holmes never had to think about what he would say. _Ever_.

"Hello" she answered as calmly as she could, not using his first name, because she was at work and there was always the chance someone could open the door and walk in any moment.

"I just wanted to tell you that everything has been dealt with" and, though he hadn't told her much, she was sure that "everything" entailed several things she really didn't want to know about. "I'm going to return soon."

"That's wonderful!" she exclaimed, and she meant it. She'd seen John break, she'd seen Greg grieve, she'd seen Mrs. Hudson make countless cups of tea and clean her and their flat too many times to count.

None of them were really over what had happened; it was time he came back.

It sounded like he – swallowed? "Thank you." He was silent for a moment. "I just called you so you'd be forewarned. It's maybe going to take one week, two at the most". Then he hung up.

Nowadays, she thinks he didn't mean "Forewarn you so you won't be shocked" or "Forewarn you so you can start harvesting body parts" but "Forewarn you because I know my friends, and I know it's not going to be easy".

And it isn't. Though at first she didn't even notice it.

Mostly because they others didn't know or hadn't processed Sherlock's explanation for being alive yet.

First, there was John hitting him and then hugging him, then there was Lestrade who didn't punch him, but decided to actually cry a few tears, and there was Mrs. Hudson, who ranted for half an hour before realizing how thin and pale her boy looked, so she made him dinner.

And then, in the course of the next few days, he must have explained, and –

They don't blame her. Not openly and, perhaps, not even consciously, at least.

But –

Sherlock is unchanged, naturally, or as unchanged as he can be, under the circumstances; now and then, when he experiments in the lab, when he looks at a body, she can see a shadow pass over his eyes and knows he's remembering, and she realizes that she has no right to call her life right now "not easy", not when compared to the life Sherlock led these three years.

John looks at her sometimes, and in his eyes, she can read something like – disappointment? Betrayal? She's not sure, but either is an emotion she'd rather not see in the eyes of her friends.  
The doctor stops greeting her, simply nodding when he walks into the morgue after Sherlock – of course they've started to take cases again almost immediately, and of course John couldn't not forgive Sherlock. She knows the feeling.  
John doesn't even seem aware that he treats her differently; he just does, and maybe it's transformed grief, grief that had to change into something different once Sherlock had returned, so it chose resentment.

Greg – and she won't think about him more than she should, no, she definitely won't – is polite, but nothing more. Though she thinks, in his case, she thinks this rather cold politeness comes more from the fact that he's a little bit angry at Sherlock that the consulting detective didn't trust him enough to tell him the truth. Neither of them would admit it, but they are quite good friends.

Mrs. Hudson is, once again, the one who understands her, the one who doesn't blame her, not even unconsciously.  
She actually invites her to tea one day, just after Sherlock and John moved back in "Though they're out, catching another killer, I think", as she puts it, and she only mentions it once, after she's just given her a cuppa, when she puts her right hand on Molly's left and says, "Well, my dear, being someone who cares about Sherlock will take a lot from you – but it's worth it in the end." And she just smiles and says nothing.  
Then they drink their tea.

Mike Stamford – things have always easy with Mike, and it's great that some things don't change. Apparently he had a drink with John shortly after Sherlock returned, because he just comes into the lab one day and says, "Looks like Sherlock turned life upside down again – though I can't say I'm surprised". And then he talks about his family and the weather, as if nothing has changed.  
And so it was easy and stays easy with Mike Stamford, and she's happy about it.

She's also rather glad Sherlock's brother didn't pay her a visit once he found out the truth – somehow she's a little scared of the strange man. She suspects Sherlock forbid him to do it, though she's far from certain that he would listen to his little brother.

So life goes on, and it's not that bad, honestly. Of course, she'd prefer it if – well, not to have to continue to lie, obviously, but if just no one ever knew she'd lied – which is of course not possible and not even a desirable option, because it would mean Sherlock was still out there doing God knows what. So it's all for the best, really, though she wishes that she could talk to Sherlock about – everything, but she doesn't know how.

And then, one day, out of the blue, Sherlock talks to her about it.

He just came to ask for a body part, and she gave him a left arm in an ice bag, and he' almost at the door, and then he turns around.

Clears his throat.

"I am aware that the last... years haven't been easy for you".

"It's alright, Sherlock" she says, smiling, because it's still nice to be noticed by him, even now. "It will get easier."

"It shouldn't have to get easier. This wasn't your fault". And he doesn't look at her, and suddenly, she knows what he thinks, and it makes her rather angry.

"Neither was it yours" she answers, matter-of-factly. His gaze returns to her, and he raises an eyebrow.

"No, I suppose it wasn't". Then, he adds, quietly, "It's just difficult to remember sometimes."

"So let's just get on blaming ourselves, then" she replies, rather sarcastically, which she wouldn't have done three years ago. He looks at her surprised.

"Yes, let's just do that". And he half-smiles, and, just like that she knows that, yes, her crush on him is still there. Naturally.

Then he leaves, and she doesn't think anything will change in the foreseeable future, but it's alright.

But two days later, Greg decides to speak with her. So Sherlock must have said something. The consulting detective will never cease to surprise her, she's sure of it.

He hesitates after he's picked up an autopsy report. "Molly?"

"Yes?" She looks at him.

"I know I haven' treated you very nice since Sherlock returned, and I'm sorry, it wasn't – " He seems lost for words, and looks down at the floor and looks rather cute, though she'd never tell anyone that.

"I know, DI Lestrade – you are more angry because Sherlock didn't tell you than because I lied for three years."

He looks at her, surprise on his face. "You would have made a good detective". She laughs at that, and he smiles. Then he asks, "Coffee?"

And maybe, just maybe, things will work out for her in the end.

A few days after that, even John comes to her – walks over to her while Sherlock is busy doing some experiment and murmuring to himself.

"Hey" he says, awkwardly.

"Hey, John" she responds, smiling.

"I just wanted to – "

"It's alright, John, I understand".

He looks at Sherlock for a moment and smiles. "Sherlock was right – you are extraordinary". She sucks in a deep breath at that, but manages to maintain her normal smile instead of starting to grin like the Cheshire Cat.

John, of course, is still looking at Sherlock mumbling to himself. "You know, Molly – all in all, I prefer you having lied to me for three years to the alternative".

"I know" she replies. And then they smile at each other.

She prefers it too.


End file.
